


Never Seen Such a Good Thing

by Penelopiad



Series: new neighbours [1]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Exhibitionism, Gay Porn Hard, M/M, Masturbation, Neighbors, Outdoor Sex, PWP, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-06
Updated: 2017-05-01
Packaged: 2018-04-03 04:42:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4087381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Penelopiad/pseuds/Penelopiad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes a guy just needs to jerk off outside where he can be seen from the house beside his. Jonathan is just being neighbourly, really.</p><p>(05/17 update: chapters added are past tumblr ficlets set in the same verse)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Gay Porn Hard mini fest on tumblr and reposted here with a few little changes and additions. 
> 
> Set in the 'new neighbours AU' created for the '5 headcanons AU' meme on tumblr. Check chapter 2 and 3 for those (non-beta'd) ficlets. 
> 
> Thanks to E and K for the support <333

 

 

It’s a nice fucking morning for jerking off.

It’s what he thinks, naked and on his back, watching the shifting muted shadows of the leaves across his bent knees while he holds his soft dick between thumb and middle finger. Lazily pokes at the foreskin with his index and gets the tip in there to rub at the head, blunt nail catching the edge of the slit.

The patio’s hard under him even through his yoga mat, but Jonathan likes it, rolls his hips to stretch his spine, tipping his chin up. The move thrusts his dick into his loose grip, a tease of a touch, really, that still sends tiny sparks of heat all over his pelvis.

It’s not difficult for him to get there, get himself right where he’s warmth-filled from toes to ears, a flush all over his skin and a stiff cock in his hand. Not in general, but especially not in situations like this one. 

He doesn’t even feel on display—it would imply he doesn’t want to be seen—but he is _displaying_ himself, knows this very well. And the knowledge of it makes him quivery, an exhilarated thrill in the pit of his stomach that smooths out steadily just as his dick fills out in his hand, getting thicker and heavier and _nice_. 

He lets his knees fall to the sides, opens them up slow and showy so he can hook one finger under his balls, give them a good little jiggle that zings fast through him and pushes a moan out of his lips. 

Not looking is simple. Not glancing at the house on the other side of his fence, perched slightly on a hill so it’s real easy to see straight into Jonathan’s yard from the kitchen. From the breakfast nook in the corner, part sunroom with tall windows and a bench and light everywhere in the early morning.

A perfect view of Jonathan doing yoga naked every morning. A perfect view of him fucking his fist, now, and lifting his hips, feet flat to the ground so the muscles in his thighs go rock solid, shadows in the grooves and light along the curve of the underside. It makes his ass stick out, makes his abs tighten, too, all of it a strong descending line from knees to shoulders. Makes it look—good.

And he stays. Stays for a long moment so the burning ache in his thighs and abs becomes a pleasing counterpoint to the tense grip he has on his dick, right around the head—compact little squeezes of his fist, his hips jerking in the air on their own at each one.

Holding himself up, he gathers spit on his tongue and licks the tip of two of his fingers, broad and wet, before sliding his foreskin down and smearing the head with them—fast, harsh circles of his wrist. _God_. It’s always so good like this, heat going liquid all across his core, and everything held so tight and in in in. Yet it’s even better now, bright blue morning sky overhead, and utterly exposed.

He unclenches everything going back down, sun-heated yoga mat warm under his bare ass. The sudden release fizzes out into his limbs and forces a spurt of precome out of him, leaving a sticky imprint on his stomach when his cock bobs a couple times. It shimmers in the sunlight with every one of his fast breaths, and he wonders if Patrick can see it, how it gleams.

He might be. If he’s using the binoculars. The ones Jonathan took from Patrick’s shelf when Patrick was fetching him an umbrella like the well-raised neighbour he is. For his mom, he’d said, when she visits. To watch the birds.

They’d made a small dull thump when he’d put them down on the breakfast table—right in the middle, impossible to miss—raising his eyes to see his own yard, to watch the rain create ripples in his pool. Perfect fucking view. To look at, to _see_.

 _Watch this_ , he thinks, and sucks on the middle finger of his left hand, sloppy, dirty and noisy even though Patrick can’t hear—but he’ll imagine it, the slurpy, suction sound of it like Jonathan’s sucking dick, spit down his chin and neck like jizz. 

He’s really going at it now, faster than he’d realized—than he’d anticipated—using his legs to fuck up up up, thumb rubbing firm on the head of his dick. 

The saltiness of his skin, the chlorine coming off his pool, the earthiness of the woods around—all of i—it fills him. Because he’s outside. He’s outside and he’s naked and he’s fucking his hand shamelessly, legs spread and working hard.

Outside with the perfect view. 

And fuck, fuck, he wanted this to last, wanted it lazy and slow and teasing. But it’s all balling up fast in his center, right there along the bunching up of his muscles as he keeps his ass off the patio, shallow thrusts quick quick quick. 

Can’t be helped now.

He takes his wet finger, shifts his weight on his opposing shoulder so he can angle his ass—angle it the _right_ way—abs fucking working. His whole body shakes—the physical effort, the coiling inside just wanting to snap.

And it does. With a ripple of heat right when Jonathan presses his finger in, knuckle-deep in his ass without stopping. Long drawn out moan punched out of him just like the come splattering his chest.

He drops everything, sweaty hands on his shaky thighs as his cock jerks in pulses, leaves jizz to dribble down the shaft. _Jeeeeesus_. 

His phone rings before he’s even caught his breath, still coming out erratic. Sweat stings his eyes. He swipes his forearm over them, grabs for his phone with his other hand.

“I’d give you a slow clap,” Patrick says right away, voice forcibly casual, obvious by the way it cracks at the end, and echo-y, too, the telltale sign of Jonathan being on speakerphone, “but my hands are kinda busy right now. Super subtle with the binoculars, by the way.”

“Show wasn’t enough for you?” Jonathan says while sitting up, hiding a small pleased smile against his knee because Patrick used them, saw it all close. He presses the phone closer to his ear to—yes, Patrick’s breathing in tiny hitches between his lips, along the unmistakable sound of a slick hand on a hard dick. 

“Oh, don’t get me wrong, I love what you’ve done with your landscaping. And by that, I mean your bushes. And by that, I mean your flowerbeds. Christ.”

Jonathan laughs, then coughs, lungs burning. “Wow, gardening’s really dirty, eh?”

His legs are unsteady when he squats by his pool, a nice dull ache in his thighs and belly like he’s done a really good and satisfying workout. He shakes his jizzed-on hand in the water then cups some to drip and rub on his chest.

“Turn a little when you do that,” Patrick says in his ear, low and breathless, turned on enough Jonathan shivers hearing it, curls his toes on the edge of his deck—goosebumps all over him from something other than the cool water on his sun-warmed skin.

Jonathan does turn, slow in his movement, as deliberate as he can be with limbs still so loose and heavy, shaky even, with how good he came.

“I was pacing myself,” Patrick says. “Taking my time to—fuck, you have no idea how you look, no idea.”

Jonathan swallows, closes his eyes. “I got—carried away.”

“Fucking perfect.” Shit, it sounds almost—reverent. Patrick’s words are choppier, swallowed consonants and loud exhales through his teeth. 

It does something to Jonathan. Knowing Patrick’s still watching even if Jonathan’s just standing there, naked by his pool. He brings his other hand to his ear to block out the noise of the wind in the trees, the birds, the whirring sound of his pool’s filter, just so he can hear him better.

“Need some help?” he asks, voice small, doesn’t think he could speak louder right now with how tight his chest is, how difficult it is to breathe into all that—something. Inside of him. Shivery and excited.

“Isn’t it—Isn’t time for your yoga?”

For the first time since he stepped outside his house, Jonathan looks over at Patrick’s, at where he knows he’s sitting, binoculars in one hand and dick in the other—probably has a feet up on the bench for comfort, too. So it’s easier. Easier to reach behind his balls in the same way Jonathan does with his thumb when he sucks Patrick’s dick, firm wet push-and-rub right across his taint. “It is. You want?”

“Yeah, come on. Salute that sun and downward that dog for me. Come on, Jon. Let me—fuck—let me see. Come—”

Yeah, it’s a nice fucking morning.

 

 


	2. 5 headcanons AU: where it started

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the ficlet that started the verse (back in 2015). Somewhat not!ficcy. The prompt was 'K/T. New neighbours AU'

 

 

**1.**

Patrick’s got a problem. His problem’s his new neighbour. He’s, as far as Patrick can tell, single, athletically muscular the way Patrick loves best, and a fucking exhibitionist to boot (or nudist at least. Exhibitionist nudist?)

Patrick knows this because he’s greeted one morning–while sitting in his little breakfast nook–by the sight of his stark naked neighbour stretching on his back patio and then promptly bending down into some yoga position that has Patrick choking on his toast. Rude.

He can’t really help it after that. He’s not, like, taking the binoculars out, but come on, the dude does naked yoga every morning, sometimes sun-bathes naked. If he’s not naked, he wears criminally tight underwear. 

He’s so fucking hot.

Patrick doesn’t want to be creepy or anything, but his office faces his, and the neighbour’s, backyard and he’s not seeking it out, but… okay, he’s gonna have to say something soon.

He does a lot of angry lawn mowing.

 

 

**2.**

Jonathan loves his new house. It’s at the end of a cul-de-sac with one side facing some woods, and only one neighbour. It’s quiet. There are large windows in almost all the rooms, tons of natural light, a great yard with a nice patio to do his yoga in the morning.

Jonathan loves being naked. And this is his house and yard and, as far as he knows, there’s only a hot guy living next door, and sure, their house is slightly on a hill so it means they can see straight into Jonathan’s yard from their kitchen or second-floor sunroom, sure. 

Jonathan knows the hot neighbour is watching. Jonathan loves that the hot neighbour is watching.

Also Jonathan’s neighbour has large shoulders and a firm chest and does a lot of shirtless, sweaty lawn mowing. Fair’s fair.

 

 

**3.**

Patrick’s mom comes to visit him. He doesn’t tell her about the naked neighbour, but she comments that the house has been sold and when she asks him who bought it he can only shrug and say, “I don’t know, some guy.” and suggest they have breakfast at his counter and not in the little breakfast nook with a nice view on the neighbour’s kitchen and yard.

Which is how Patrick ends up ringing Jonny’s doorbell with a nice casserole in hand, because his mom made it and “for goodness’ sake, Patrick, I’ve raised you better than this.”

Of course, Jonathan (he learns a second later) answers in his underwear. At least he’s not naked? Otherwise it would have been maybe a bit more embarrassing how fast Patrick went to his knees. Small mercies.

 

 

**4.**

They fuck a lot. Everywhere. Outside.

If Patrick isn’t sitting in a chair right on Jonathan’s patio for the Daily Naked Yoga Show, he’s doing it from his house, smiling in his cup of coffee when Jonathan gives him a wave.

And Jonathan loves leaning on the low fence and watch him mow the lawn, saying useful stuff like, “you missed a spot there,” and “aren’t you warm in those jeans?”

Patrick doesn’t think he’s ever been this often naked since he was a toddler. He can also never tell his mother why the outdoor patio swing she loves to to read in when she visits is broken.

 

 

**5.**

Jonathan can’t help the helpless smile stretching his face when Patrick tells him he wants him to meet his mother and sisters who are coming for a visit.

“You can’t tell her how this started,” Patrick says raising his head from Jonny’s thigh where he was trying to catch his breath after giving Jonathan a spectacular blowjob.

“Don’t worry,” Jonathan says, petting his hair, and not pointing out that they’ll have to clean the windows of Patrick’s sunroom because Jonathan’s pretty sure that’s a dick imprint he can see over there. “I’ll tell her it’s the casserole that did it.”

 

 


	3. Poolside

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> someone on tumblr tagged me in [this picture](https://68.media.tumblr.com/48336984450c4681b158b245716bf1ad/tumblr_nnj5zaSdCX1qauc1to1_500.jpg) (mildly nsfw) with these tags: #nsfw #all about that casual exhibitionism #yo #apenelopiad #I believe this may be up your street as well? #tazer in his pool in the new neighbours au? (written in 2015)

 

 

When Patrick steps onto the deck and slides the screen door closed behind him with a quiet click, Jonathan is doing a lap underwater. In the humid night, the strong scent of water and chlorine, the small soft yellow deck lights, and the turquoise and blue of the pool bright in the darkness, lit from within, all work to hush Patrick, settle him down.

He waits for Jonathan to come up for air, then takes a moment to look at the water sliding over his back when he does, muscles working as he runs a hand over his hair, shifting shadows and reflected light over the grooves and the rise of his shoulder blades. 

It’s a small punch of heat low in his belly, knowing that Jonathan’s doing it on purpose, just for him–for them–and Patrick shakes his head, smiles.

“Didn’t take you long,” he says, lifting Jonathan’s wet swimsuit from the edge of the pool with his big toe, then letting it fall again with dull splat. 

Jonathan turns and swims toward him. “Hey, I did wait for your mother to leave,” he says. His nipples are pebbled, dark just under the surface of the water, and Patrick pushes his tongue at the back of his lower lip.

“Truly a master of restraint,” Patrick says.

The water and low lights make Jonathan’s cheekbones pop, makes Patrick want to sweep his thumbs over them, hold his jaw in his hands.

Patrick’s never been one for looking before, not much more than normal at least; he’d watch porn, look at hot people on the street, in the clubs. Normal stuff, average for any guy like him. But it’s different now. Now he likes it. Voluntarily takes a step back. 

Jonathan makes him want to look. At him. All the time.

Even before coming over, he’d taken a look out into Jonathan’s yard–out of habit really–watching as he swam naked, at the long soft shadow of his body moving through the water. It was so easy to be this far and breathe into the warmth that filled him as he looked at the swell of Jonathan’s ass, his thick thighs as he pushed himself off the pool, soft dick nestled between them. Easy to imagine putting his mouth on it, tasting the water and the skin, gently suck on it until hard. Just him and his thoughts and Jonathan.

Patrick undresses and Jonathan whistles between his teeth and smiles at him, arms crossed on the edge of the pool with his chin resting on them.

“You gonna join me?” he says, hushed.

Sitting down on the deck, legs in the water, Patrick frames Jonathan’s shoulders with his knees, breath coming out shaky when Jonathan slides his hands on the inside of his thighs to widen them more, fingers wet and cool.

There’s the usual sound of chirping crickets, the low rustle of leaves in the evening breeze, and Patrick takes his time, runs his palms over Jonathan’s hair to the back of his head, then pulls slightly until Jonathan looks up. “It’s my turn, now,” he says, just as low as Jonathan had.

Jonathan frowns a little, but goes easy with it when Pat lifts his right foot and puts it on Jonathan’s shoulder, pushes until Jonathan steps back, still keeps it there, toes gripping and sliding on the muscle. 

He rubs his dick with the heel of his hand, down and to the side, then up over his stomach, Jonathan’s wide dark eyes on him the whole time. “It’s my turn,” he repeats, and Jonathan looks up at him, smiles, hand coming up to hold onto Patrick’s ankle.

“Yeah, Pat. Yeah,” he whispers, urgent and rough. He moves forward against Patrick’s foot. “Come on. Show me.”

 

 


End file.
